Box of Tricks
by liliwick the WORD
Summary: "I played a hunch. And it turned out it wasn't a bad one either." Or, that time when Ethan kissed William Brandt in the middle of a mission and then Brandt had to go and develop a stupid crush.
1. Chapter 1

**BOX OF TRICKS  
**

[Summary: _"I played a hunch. And it turned out it wasn't a bad one either." __Or that time when Ethan kissed William Brandt in the middle of a mission and then Brandt had to go and develop a stupid crush._]

So, my creative writing power juices seemed to have rekindled in the more live-action fandoms. I just want to say that I cannot express my love for the team in _Mission:Impossible Ghost Protocol._ Feel free to read the fun notes at the end. Apologies for this massive 10K+worded first part. You want the good bits? Do read and enjoy.

* * *

**Part I.**

* * *

"Let me just say that this is my honest-to-god opinion and that I don't know a better way to tell you this. Normally I've learned to go along with any one of your ideas because they work so much better than mine or Benji's and even more so than Jane's and Jane is a _genius_ at thinking up great ideas. Like when she thought up the best solution to use the route in the tunnels to escape that triad gang that was after us when we did that mission in France. But this is, I have to admit, the absolute worst cover in the history of covers that we've done so far. Including that time we made Benji dress up in an alien suit and speak with an awful Texan accent at that Sci-Fi convention a few months ago in Cali so that we could get the name of our intel. If I had known better, I should've said no to this mission long ago. I wouldn't have come and I would've been miles away on a sunny lagoon somewhere in the beaches of, say Malaysia, enjoying my complimentary cocktail and a couple of packets of cracker peanuts that I snitched from the airplane because they're addictive as hell. Instead, here I am with you in these fancy monkey suits about to infiltrate a secret male brothel-slash-club hidden beneath a top-class hotel."

Ethan raised an eyebrow at him, "You do know that Benji needs to work the computers and Jane is, of course, out of the question. There is just no one else and the mission requires two people to make it in this place. So what exactly is your problem with our current covers?"

"We are playing a pimp and his man whore," William Brandt pointed out distastefully before wincing. "And guess who's playing the man whore."

"Firstly, we are not really playing a pimp and his man whore. But that is the general sense of the term," Ethan corrected, adjusting the tie of his baby blue silk suit that Brandt was sure cost at least a couple of thousand dollars. "My role is more of a recreational provider and you're one of the escorts under my employment who is available to any gentleman requesting for your services."

"That's the problem," muttered Brandt under his breath and he was sure that Ethan had heard him. Even if he did, Ethan did not show any signs of caring. Instead, he began going over the mission at hand just like he always did. Brandt liked to believe that Ethan tended to go over things again and again because he favoured the sound of his own voice and secretly revelled in satisfaction at seeing the disbelief in his team members' faces, as if they should be impressed by the confidence he put in his words. Unfortunately, the truth was that out of all of them, Ethan was indeed the epithet of self-confidence and even Brandt himself couldn't argue against that.

"Our present operation involves confirming our suspect," Ethan began in his typically business-like tone. "The man we are now targeting is named Roman Bergmann, 6'2, blonde hair, blue eyes, mole next to his left eye. It's uncertain whether it's his real name or one of his sobriquets but my guess is that it's the latter. It is possible that Bergmann has connections to the terrorist group Sentinel but we first need to be sure that it's him. Our way of confirming this is to find out whether Bergmann has a tattoo of a phoenix on his left thigh. One of Sentinel's top operatives is rumoured to have a phoenix tattoo in the same place as well. What we've decided to do now is our best chance to confirm that he's our man." The corner of Ethan's mouth twitched upwards as if to smile, "If Benji were to go in there, it's a guarantee that he'll screw up. He's worse at playing this game compared to you."

"Probably because I have more experience on the field?" Brandt asked gloomily. _Except that it isn't quite like this, _he added to himself.

"If you put it that way, yes," Ethan nodded once. "Jane would have been better at this sort of thing but Bergmann only takes male escorts."

"I don't see why it can't be you," Brandt said huffily. He knew it sounded almost like a whine but he really didn't like where this is going at all.

"I _could _do it," Ethan smiled and there was something mischievous in his eyes that Brandt never expected to see from him. "But I make a better liar than you and I can get Bergmann interested in you in a few seconds."

Brandt groaned inwardly. This was also true. He once nearly blew their cover when they were on a mission in Spain and where Brandt had failed to convince the suspicious security guard that they were really just lost holidaymakers, Ethan had stepped in and smoothed things over without even blinking. The security guard had been pacified and they were safe to go.

Ethan was now looking over his reflection in the mirror, smoothing back his hair and patting his tie once more before turning to Brandt who was also clad in another thousand-dollar suit, his coloured in an attractively deep mauve hue. Ethan's sharp eyes studied him from top to bottom and Brandt fidgeted uncomfortably at this scrutiny.

"Passed?" he asked weakly, eager to be off because he wanted to get this over and done with.

"Not quite," Ethan said with a slight shake of his head. He reached out and straightened Brandt's tie and smoothed the creases from his shoulders. Although they were both about the same height, Ethan exuded an authority that made him taller than he really was. Even Brandt felt swamped by Ethan's confident aura. "Don't look so nervous," he advised, giving Brandt a pat and stepping back. "You look like you're about to go into your first prom. Relax and look professional."

The door behind them opened and Benji and Jane arrived, carrying with them several cases of their gear at hand. Jane whistled when she spotted them by the full-length mirror of their hotel room. "If I hadn't known better," she said teasingly, setting their equipment onto the floor and gazing at them with delight in her intelligent eyes. "I would sell my cats just to have you two wear those suits for a whole week without changing. And it's really hard to pick which is my favourite." She then winked at Brandt approvingly, "You look good, Will."

Brandt shifted a bit, adjusting his tie because he was feeling slightly flustered and flattered at the same time from the compliment. Especially when it came from Jane. Jane's compliments were special, the whole team knew that, because when she did give them out, you felt light-heartened and good about yourself afterwards.

Benji put his share of bags and cases down and stretched his arms to shake away the strain of carrying them. When he noticed the look Jane was throwing his way, he seemed to remember something and cleared his throat. "Oh hi guys," he greeted awkwardly and Jane's glower intensified on him and Brandt was beginning to feel suspicious. It was confirmed when Benji nodded at him and grinned, "Yes. Yes I think the suit suits you, mate. I'm sure you'll knock the socks off those rich guys into dating you. I would- er, I mean no-not that I want to. You know…date you, seeing that we're co-workers and good friends and all. Haha…erm, I mean, no I didn't mean it that way, I'm just saying that if I was a lady I'd find you attractive too. And would go out with you. Or-or perhaps if I was a rich man whose real identity may well be as a terrorist, I'd pick you. I guess."

As Benji glanced at Jane who had narrowed her eyes reproachfully at him and he mouthed "sorry" back at her, Brandt shot a suspicious glare towards Ethan who was currently unbuckling the cases and taking several gadgets out. No doubt Ethan must have noticed Brandt's uncertainty when he first proposed their plans earlier on. He must have talked to the others into giving him some sort of morale boost so that he could feel better when his bit in their field operation began.

Brandt sighed in defeat. He had agreed to this mission already, had pledged that he and the team would go to any lengths if it comes to completing the assignment. He was a field agent once more and after months of working with this team - and he really didn't want to admit it aloud but he _loved _this team; loved working with Ethan and Jane and Benji - he was sure he could trust every one of them not to fail and even if they did, there was always something to turn things around: a loophole, a window of opportunity, a chance to turn the tables and they - usually it was always Ethan - would grab it and succeed in the end, job well done.

So even if the mission involved him likely getting felt up by a man who could be a terrorist, he'd have to buckle up and ride through this charade because there was no way he was screwing up again.

Next to him, Ethan saw his look of determination and smiled.

* * *

"_The Prominence_ is the hotel where it's rumoured to hide our secret club," Ethan said, gesturing with a nod of his head towards the high-class hotel opposite their street. "Like we discussed, we're going in separately at different times. Jane's going in first to plant our Scamper - that's this little gadget which scrambles the computers of the hotel - and Benji'll come in later in his cover as hotel maintenance and hack into the mainframe and take control of the security cameras and elevators. Benji, you'll also be searching for blueprints or secret entrances to where this secret club is located within the hotel. Then it's our turn to come in. Our sources tell us that the club comes into operation in the late night. We were told to wait at the hotel bar for someone to pick us up. As always, we keep each other updated on our whereabouts and activities, don't forget we're using codenames while on the comms-"

"Question about the codenames," interrupted Jane. "As long as we're not using Star Trek references, I'm okay."

"Oh but I liked the Star Trek codenames," Benji piped up with a grin. "Made me feel special that I was Scotty."

"We could do the planets again," Brandt suggested and winked at Benji. "You could be Uranus this time."

"Haha," Benji deadpanned sarcastically and flipped a finger at the grinning Brandt who reached out to playfully slap it away.

"Alright, children," Ethan cut in exasperatedly. "Let's settle for birds. It fits in with our target being a phoenix tattoo."

"How about I be Hawkeye?" Brandt offered enthusiastically.

"And you used to be Chief Analyst?" Benji scoffed while Jane ducked behind her palm to stop herself from laughing. "Hawkeye isn't even a type of bird. It's a plane."

"It's one of _the_ best planes back in the war. AndI always wanted that as my codename, Mr. _Scotty_. You could be Penguin."

"Why a penguin? Penguins don't even fly."

"I think it suits you," Jane agreed from behind her palm, her eyes glowing with amusement because she was looking at his T-shirt which, funnily enough, had a picture of a penguin carrying a bazooka on it.

"We really don't have time for this," Ethan said with a shake of his head but they all knew he was secretly enjoying their banter. "Alright so Falcon," he gestured at himself and then at the rest of them. "Hawkeye, Penguin and Black Canary. Bergmann is Phoenix. Is that okay?"

"_Black _Canary?" Jane stared incredulously at their team leader. "Did you just say Black Canary?"

"Isn't she a comic book superhero?" Brandt asked because he remembered watching a cartoon about a team of superheroes once on TV.

"Of course it is," Benji replied happily at the realisation that Ethan had decided to pick codenames that matched his preferences. "We're using superhero codenames which I think are - Oh wait. Wait, wait, wait, I'm _Penguin_? But The Penguin's a _villain_ from Batman."

"Like I said," Ethan cut in before Benji could argue any further. "Not the time." He then tossed Benji a set of deep blue overalls. "Suit up, Penguin. We've got a long night ahead of us."

When Ethan turned back to spy through their windows at the hotel opposite theirs, Brandt looked at Jane and mouthed, "Hawkeye?"

"Great choice," she stated, giving his arm a pat and went off to get ready.

* * *

_The Prominence _certainly lived up to its name.

The moment Ethan and Brandt stepped through their glass double doors, they found themselves thrust into a world of bright golden lights, shiny marble floors, white columns and crystal chandeliers. The grand reception hall was huge and had a domed ceiling decorated with mosaics. A magnificent small fountain sprung up from the middle of the hall, with statues of majestic horses galloping over the leaping water. Brandt saw Ethan survey the scene before them, stopped as if he was waiting for something and sure enough, a bellboy hurried over and offered them his services.

"The bar please," Ethan said importantly, slipping the bellboy a crisp fifty dollar note.

"Right away sir," bowed the young man and turned to lead them the way.

They walked through a corridor which opened to a small, dimly lit but comfortable bar called the Box of Tricks. The design was in an art deco style, black and white and sophisticated. They settled themselves on a matching set of couches and a waitress walked over and took their drink orders.

"Update," Ethan muttered into his comm. "Falcon and Hawkeye have arrived at the bar. It's called the Box of Tricks. Got anything on it?"

Benji's voice came through. "Penguin here. Blueprint indicates it's just regular bar with a couple of private rooms in the back. It used to be just office space when the hotel first opened and then the bar was built over it a few months later. Could our secret club be underground? There seems to be an empty space about six feet below you but I can't see how you could get there."

"Canary, what do you have for me?" Ethan asked.

"I'm downstairs by the service quarters," Jane answered. "I've checked the kitchen and am headed down to the laundry room. Will update as soon as I can."

"Who is it that we're waiting for?" Brandt asked Ethan quietly, looking around the room which housed several customers, couples mostly. The atmosphere around them was filled with the sounds of tinkling glasses, low murmuring voices, fruity laughter and soft Jazzy piano notes.

"Not sure," Ethan muttered back. "Just keep your eyes open." He slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and took out a silver Dunhill cigarette lighter.

Brandt stared at him. "You don't smoke," he pointed out.

"No, I don't," Ethan answered, flicking the lid of the lighter open and then clicking it shut again.

"But are you going to?"

"Not yet."

Their drinks arrived and Brandt was glad to take a sip of his cocktail to calm down his nerves. Ethan didn't touch his but continued to sit still, flicking the lighter open and then shutting it again.

About half an hour passed in silence, with Benji and Jane regularly updating the reports of their lack of success in locating their hidden club. "Well, we could always get a sledgehammer and Canary could smash her way through some walls and find it," Benji had suggested jokingly and Jane then threatened to tell everyone about the incident in the art gallery at Helsinki in which Benji quickly promised that he wouldn't make jokes about her again.

Soon, the bar began to fill with customers and Brandt was careful to note them one by one, group by group. There were more men than women in the bar which told them something and he was sure that Ethan noticed it too. A number of them requested to go to the private rooms in the back and Brandt noticed to his surprise that some seemed to be well-known, influential people. He recognised Ronald P. Newman, the famous inspirational talker who gave lectures on business management to top firms around the country; Judge Jerry Bailey from the Illinois County Court and even Peter Trench, a children's television presenter. As far as Brandt knew, there was little connection between all the men who requested the back rooms. He wasn't quite sure what to make of it. When Brandt finished his third glass of cocktail, Ethan finally spoke, "There."

He was looking at a big, dark-skinned man who had just entered the bar and Brandt instantly recognised him by his bright yellow suit, his yellow-tinted sunglasses and his white shoes which were made from genuine crocodile skin.

"Is that K2?" he blinked as the other customers in the bar around them began to murmur in excitement at the man's arrival. Several came up to shake his hand and take photographs while his small group of security guards stood by, watching warily for any signs of trouble.

"K2?" Jane's voice buzzed in their comm. "Who's K2?"

"It's the stage name for Kieran Kassidy, formally Kabul Maroush. He's an R&B superstar," Brandt explained and he thought some more, trying to recall what he'd read about the man.

Luckily, Benji got there first. "Here it is," he announced in their ears and they could hear the sound of his typing as Benji drew out the profile on Kabul Maroush, now named Kieran Kassidy. Born from Israeli parents and an only child, the Maroush family migrated to the US when young Kabul was only ten and they lived a life of poverty in a corner of China Town in San Francisco. His parents' early death led him to a life of crime at that young age - theft, forgery, drug-smuggling, the lot - but all that changed when a compassionate wealthy American named Jeremy Kassidy adopted him and put him through rehab and school. Young Kieran, as he was now christened, changed his ways and it was ten years later that he broke into the music industry, singing R&B and collaborating with many artists, making him famous. When Kassidy senior died, he left the young Kieran his estate and his money. Kieran Kassidy or 'K2' was a millionaire now, a successful singer and part-time entertainer, and had helped set up the charity for 'Save the Children from War'. The fact that he was here at this bar at The Prominence Hotel probably indicated that he was not on tour at present.

Still why would Ethan point Kassidy out to him?

Once Kassidy thanked his fans and they scurried back to their seats, he surveyed the rest of the room and his gaze fell upon their table. Ethan flicked his lighter open again and lit a flame which he let flicker in the air.

_He's the one, _Brandt realised suddenly as Kassidy, flanked by his bodyguards, smoothly manoeuvred his way across the room towards them. _He's the one we've been waiting for. Ethan must have used the lighter as a signal._

"Hey, it's my pilot friend Maverick!" Kassidy boomed, his accent sounding two parts American and one part Israeli, and shook Ethan's hand firmly. Kassidy was a big man with one of those jolly, cheerful faces that you couldn't forget. He had many silver rings on his fingers, diamond studded medallions and a gold tooth to boot. "How are you? Ah, I see you've brought your cousin, Mr. Cross, too. Nice to meet you!"

"Maverick and his cousin, Cross?" Jane hummed approvingly into the comm. "That could work."

Obviously Kassidy was pretending to know them to avert suspicions. He patted Ethan in the back. "Why don't we go to the premiere lounge and have some friendly chat, eh?"

They got up and crossed the bar and went to a corner and into the back, passing a couple of private rooms where Brandt could see a number of people inside each one, talking loudly and laughing and drinking while waitresses darted in and out with trays laden with filled and empty glasses.

"What do you think of this place, eh?" Kassidy asked jovially, beaming back at them. "One of my favourite places to go and relax. The atmosphere is pleasant and many of my friends come for the drinks. You must try looking at the list of wines. Absolutely superb! Genuine vintage! Also costs as much as a hotel. Hahaha!"

They entered a room which seemed more like a standard hotel suite. It came complete with its own mini-bar and fridge, a sofa set, a giant plasma screen TV and a couple of game consoles. There was even a karaoke booth complete with stage by the corner.

"The premiere lounge," Kassidy swept his arm around the room. "Impressive, eh?" The door shut behind them with a snap and the train of bodyguards lined in front of the door, blocking their way out. Brandt became wary, his hand snaking towards his jacket where he had concealed a pocket knife inside. Ethan, on the other hand, remained calm but Brandt could see he was casually fingering his belt, where Benji had stashed some supplies in the lining.

Kassidy walked over to the mini-bar, reached up and pulled down a champagne glass which was hanging from a wooden frame. It didn't detach itself from the frame but remained hanging there and they heard a sharp click and the fridge near the bar moved, revealing a secret passageway.

"Gentlemen," Kassidy said, grinning and gesturing at them to follow him. "Allow me to welcome you into the real Box of Tricks."

* * *

It was not as impressive as the bar outside.

Already they sensed the secretive air about them as the place was even more dimly lit, casting dark shadows all over the room. The customers were all men and were dressed in expensive suits and barely talked to one another. Even the small group who were playing cards were silent as they tossed wads of money onto the table. There was the occasional grunt of agreement and soft murmuring of deep voices but nothing rose higher than that. Kassidy must have noticed their stunned faces because he leaned in and muttered, "No one likes to make a racket about themselves here. The less people know about each other, the better. I could let you in on a little secret too. Some of these gentlemen are very influential people. It would be scandalous if they were discovered to be indulging in this kind of thing." He then drew back and grinned, shaking their hands again, "I hope you have a good time here, gentlemen. I must go back and entertain my guests." He then left in a swish of yellow.

As Ethan and Brandt walked deeper into the room, the former muttered lowly into his comm: "Falcon here. The premiere lounge hides the door. A champagne glass is the key. We were right in thinking that the entrance was in the bar itself."

"Copy that. Any developments; just let us know," Benji responded and then, "I kind of liked that K2 guy. He sounded really friendly at this end."

"You're forgetting that he might be part of this business," Jane remarked. "I wouldn't be surprised if it turned out he owned the place."

"No shit," Brandt agreed under his breath.

"Falcon," Benji called. "Can you see someplace to put our server interface? With a club as secret as this, there's sure to be a stand-alone network that's functioning separately from the hotel."

"Working on it," Ethan muttered and spotted one of the customers - Brandt identified him as Vladimir Chernov who held a seat at the Russian parliament - duck out of the room at the far end, his phone glued to his ear, no doubt wanting to take his calls privately. Ethan and Brandt waited until Chernov returned (Brandt recognised a whole lot of faces while they waited. It was astonishing to see so many rich people here, many who held important positions in government and private sectors, all spending their time and money at a seedy secret club like this) and once Chernov returned a couple of minutes later, they slipped passed the door and found themselves in an empty corridor. It was lit with fluorescent lights which illuminated the plain whitewashed walls leading to the emergency exit at the far end.

The first thing they checked was whether there was any security cameras installed nearby. A single camera was perched at the far end above the emergency exit and they had been lucky to step into the camera's blind spot. The camera was a revolving one which moved slow but covered the surrounding area, leaving no corner of the corridor unwatched. As quickly as they could, they sprinted to the spot underneath it and Brandt gave Ethan his shoulders to stand on so that the latter could reach up and quickly pull out its wires. The camera spluttered and died. Brandt reacted swiftly, tossing Ethan a small chip which glowed red as he aimed and swept it across the area of the corridor that the camera surveyed. He then attached the chip onto the security camera before inserting its wires back in. The camera hummed back to life and began to rotate and Ethan held out a hand, waved it in front of the lens and waited. Nothing happened in the next few seconds. They relaxed and Ethan climbed off Brandt's shoulders. Whoever was watching through this security camera now would only see an empty corridor before them.

Now that they were free to do what they wanted, it was a few moments before they found what they were looking for: a metal box suspended about two feet above them, near the ceiling. Ethan had to stand on Brandt's shoulders again to reach the box and insert their server interface into one of its slots.

"Well done guys," Benji's voice buzzed in their ears. "I'm online and have control over cameras and - oh my, there are rather a lot of cameras. Oh… Ugh, that's naughty, okay not looking at that. But uh, anyway, I've just pulled up the blueprints on this thing and… it's huge, this place. There are about six more floors under you."

"Six more?" Ethan echoed, looking at Brandt who was brushing away Ethan's shoeprints off his shoulders. Ethan absent-mindedly reached over to help him out. "Why would they need an extra six? Is this place not just a brothel?"

"If there are more floors, then the Box of Tricks isn't just a secret club for the wealthy and powerful," Jane surmised. "I think there's more to this place than we first thought. What do we know about the rest of these floors, Penguin?"

"Eh, I really don't know. I could check the cameras later but based on the blueprints, it looks like the floors where the club's clients go to do their thing are on floors 2A and 2B. The rest are labelled with a letter, a numerical figure and a roman number. They don't tell me anything about what goes on in there. Do you want me to find out?"

"Negative," Ethan responded, checking his watch. "We've been gone too long. We need to get back inside and look for Phoenix. Penguin, any sign of him in the bar?"

"One moment," Benji said and as they slipped back into the quiet bar, they heard Benji begin exclaiming at the faces he recognised: "My god, is that Reverent Joshua Leonhart? What on earth is he doing here? And that's Troy McCauley, that newscaster from CNN. I thought he was in Russia reporting about the advancements in the nuclear fusion theory. Oh, and I know that face anywhere. That's…" and on and on he went.

Brandt had just noticed that there was a small group of men, some were young and in their early twenties, dressed in different coloured suits and had what looked like a white band fastened around their left forearm. Looking around the room, he found some more scattered about and one or two speaking quietly with some of the customers. One of these banded men stood up, leading another man (that's Peter Trench all right) to the end of the room and passed through a set of glass doors. Squinting, Brandt saw that it led to the elevators which must be going to the floors down below them.

"Noticed the escorts, have you?" Ethan muttered beside him and when one of the banded men brushed past; Ethan purposely jostled his shoulder against him.

"Sorry," he murmured to the man, steadying him and the man smiled, accepting the apology. With nimble fingers too fast to follow, somehow Ethan had unfastened the band from around the man's forearm and then slipped it off before the latter moved away. He then handed it to a stunned Brandt who took it in his hand and studied it.

"There's a number on this thing," he pointed out. "There's also some sort of barcode."

"Room numbers," Ethan deduced. "Each escort seems to have their own room. The barcode becomes the key to these rooms."

Brandt slipped the white band up his arm and fastened it shut, pausing to study it once more. Meanwhile, Benji was still identifying the customers with awe. "Oh that's Lady Janet Wilson who's really a man. Didn't recognise him at first because he's wearing a suit but the make-up still gives him away-"

"Benji, have you found Phoenix yet?" Jane cut in impatiently. They could hear the sound of a woman jabbering away in Spanish in the background at her end. Brandt caught the words "champagne" and "order" and inferred that Jane must be outside at the hotel bar, waiting for them.

"It's Penguin," Benji corrected her. "Oh sorry, sorry. Got a bit carried away - er, yes, I think I've found him. He's… on your right side, two o'clock, on his own, holding a cigar. Can you see him?"

"Phoenix, up ahead," Ethan muttered and Brandt followed his gaze across the room and spotted the man in question sitting on one of the couches, twirling a cigar in his fingers while his other hand held his phone, thumbs jabbing this key and that. Roman Bergmann was surprisingly handsome for man in his late forties, being clean-shaven and had his blonde hair neatly combed back. He was wearing a stylish deep blue dinner jacket-suit combo and Brandt could just see the faint outline of the mole near his left eye amidst the shadows and cigarette smoke.

"Okay," Brandt whispered, shooting a look at Ethan. "How are we going to do this?"

Ethan thought for a moment, "We'll go to him, talk to him for a bit and then I'll offer you out and…"

The rest of his words trailed off when they spotted Bergmann toss his cigar, get up and motioned at the group of escorts. A couple of them saw him and it looked as if they were trying to decide which of their group members to answer the summon before one bespectacled young man stepped out and made his way over.

"Too late," Brandt whispered, his shoulders slumping. "He's already picked someone."

Ethan stared after them as they disappeared behind the glass doors and into an elevator shaft.

"Not yet," he said and motioned for Brandt to follow him. They made passed the glass doors and called up an elevator.

"Penguin," Ethan said as they stepped inside the elevator shaft. "Which floor is Phoenix going to?"

"What's that? Uh, floor 2B," came Benji's reply. "I see him. He and his friend are about to get off soon."

"What number is your band?" Ethan asked Brandt quickly.

"Uh, sixty-six?"

"Penguin?"

"Sixty-six is the room number, right? That's on floor 2A I'm afraid."

Ethan punched the 2B button and the elevator began its descent. "Penguin, update me on Phoenix's location. Which room is he heading to?"

"Hang on, hang on," Benji began typing. "Got him. Just got off the landing and he's turning left and walking down the hallway."

"Got it."

The elevator doors pinged softly and slid open on floor 2B. They stepped onto the landing and into heavy silence and began making their way down the left hallway where they then spotted Bergmann up ahead with his escort.

"Room number?" Ethan muttered quietly into the comm.

"It looks like…" Brandt could _hear _Benji squinting at the monitor of his laptop, trying to discern the room number. "Yeah, it's 108."

They watched as Bergmann's escort unfastened his white band and held it against the reader attached to the doorknob. A soft beep sounded as the door was unlocked and swung open to let the two men disappear inside.

"What's the plan?" Brandt asked Ethan who did not answer but continued walking until they stopped outside the door of Bergmann's room. "Should we sneak in? Crash? Ask Canary to send us a Scouter?"

"They're inside," Benji reported. "I think Phoenix is about to pour them both a drink… There he goes."

"Will you be watching the whole time?" Jane asked mockingly. "And report to us play by play?"

"Oh god, no!" Benji exclaimed in horror.

"Really?"

"Well, how else am I going to tell all of you what's happening in there?"

Ethan had been suspiciously quiet beside him during Benji and Jane's banter on the comm. Brandt could see that their leader was thinking hard on what they should do next. He almost felt sorry for Ethan. This had been something of an impossible mission anyhow and Brandt knew that deep down, things were always going to go wrong.

Except the next thing that happened was not what Brandt had expected.

Because Ethan took him by the shoulders and shoved him hard against the wall outside Bergmann's room, the impact causing a loud _thud_ to echo down the empty hallway. Brandt gasped in shock, briefly seeing stars before his eyes because he had hit his head against the wall, and was unable to grasp what was happening. He was so shocked that he didn't move when he felt Ethan's hands cupping his jaw and neck and he couldn't speak when Ethan's lips descended on his.

* * *

"_Oh,_" Benji uttered in disbelief and was torn between the decision to continue monitoring the security camera footage of his two teammates or just switching his laptop off.

"What's going on?" Jane asked in the comm, hearing the shock in his voice.

"You're not going to believe me," he simply answered and left it to that.

* * *

Ethan felt like a freight train, like a rollercoaster, like a great stampede. He was fierce and demanding and strong and exact and certain of everything. He was like a whirlpool that sucked you down into the deep and an inferno that burned bright and hot and eternal. He was a power that was indestructible and painful and _impossible_. He was Ethan Hunt and he was there and he was kissing him.

* * *

Brandt's mind switched back on and he reacted on reflex.

Shoving Ethan back, he struck him in three places: his knee, his solar plexus and in between his legs, making Ethan turn white before folding in on himself. Brandt then swung his fist and punched Ethan in the face as the final blow and the latter collapsed onto the ground. By the time Brandt realised what he'd done, he was standing over Ethan's unconscious body, panting hard, his face flushed and lips tingling, his heartbeat loud in his ears.

An unfamiliar voice spoke in a German accent somewhere from his left side.

"You certainly showed him."

Brandt turned and found Roman Bergmann standing there, the door of his room open. Brandt could just see Bergmann's escort peering over the edge of the door, looking shocked at the scene before them. The German man ignored him and began to clap his hands slowly at Brandt, as if the latter had just executed an entertaining show, and Bergmann studied him up and down, taking in the rumpled clothes and unruly hair and the white band around his left forearm. He seemed impressed. "Tell me," he began with a small smile. "Where did you learn to fight like that?"

"I used to be in the army," Brandt thought up the first thing in his head. His mouth still tingled and he reached up and rubbed it with the back of his hand. It took a while for him to will his body to calm down. "Leader of the EOD back in the Iraq War."

"Hmm," hummed Bergmann and he continued to stare at him in such a way that Brandt was beginning to feel uncomfortable.

"Sorry that you had to see that," Brandt apologised because he felt like he needed to say something. Also Ethan was taking a long time being unconscious on the floor, Brandt thought distractedly.

"Perhaps you would prefer someone else's company," Bergmann suggested and took a step closer towards him. "Someone much more civilised than this… gentleman." He cast Ethan a disapproving look. "Someone like myself perhaps? I shall, of course, pay you extra."

Brandt stared at Bergmann, trying to keep his expression neutral while his mind raced and then his thoughts centred themselves onto Ethan. Of course, Ethan had planned this; he had planned all of this. While pretending to assault him outside Bergmann's room, the ruckus they caused had attracted the German man's attention and he had opened his door to investigate. What Bergmann found outside was Ethan and Brandt pressed against the wall nearby; bodies struggling and mouths locked together, and while watching them, probably found the whole thing exciting. He must have found Brandt fighting Ethan off to be even more so.

"What about him?" Brandt gestured towards Bergmann's escort - poor guy - who shrank behind the door when their attention was drawn onto him.

"Never mind him," Bergmann said dismissively. He motioned for his escort to come forth and the young man obediently stepped forward. He looked no older than twenty-five years at least. His body was tall and lanky, build like a baseball player. He was also rather good-looking in a way, with high cheekbones and a long nose. There was a small scar over his eyebrow and muddy green eyes behind stylish glasses. "Sir?" he said and stood straight, as if he was addressing a commanding officer.

"Perhaps another night," Bergmann informed him, waving a dismissive hand. "We'll be using your room to save time, you won't mind? I'll inform the right authorities." He then shot a glance at the unconscious Ethan, "Why don't you take this gentleman upstairs and accompany him outside?"

"Yes sir," murmured the escort and as he passed Brandt, he shot him a dirty look which surprised him very much.

"Shall we?" Bergmann asked invitingly and he and Brandt both stepped into the room.

* * *

The bed was _huge._

Brandt thought you could fit a whole football team on it. It had smooth satin sheets which were mauve in colour and a great number of plush pillows and cushions. The headboard looked like polished oak, carved with intricate symbols. The rest of the room was richly furnished like any other hotel suite. Brandt could see the door to the bathroom open wide enough to allow a glimpse of polished marble tiles, a Jacuzzi tub and a power shower. No doubt all the other rooms had this too. There was of course a mini bar and fridge nearby and there were two wine glasses placed on the surface of the bar, both filled with champagne but were untouched. Bergmann took a glass and handed it to Brandt.

"To the Box of Tricks," he saluted and clinked their glasses together before throwing his head back and downing the drink. He smacked his lips appreciatively when he emerged. "People always assume champagne to be more of a feminine drink," he chatted amiably. "But I believe otherwise. I appreciate the taste and texture of it when it is on the tongue. Don't you?"

He was watching Brandt take a small sip from his glass and when the latter nodded, he beamed. "I was right, wasn't I? This champagne is of course a vintage and cost as much as two Ferrari cars. Please, sit and tell me a little bit more about yourself."

Brandt had taken precaution not to let a drop of the champagne go down his throat. He was wary of the fact that Bergmann might have spiked the drink so he merely pretended to take the sip, as if to taste it, and once he passed Bergmann's test, placed the glass onto the coffee table. They sat down on opposite couches which were squashy and comfortable. Bergmann's eyes never left him.

"I'd rather not talk about myself," Brandt replied ruefully. "I'm kind of a private person."

"I understand," Bergmann nodded and took out a box of cigars and held them out to Brandt who politely refused.

"Do you mind if I smoke for a bit?" Bergmann bit onto the cigar, not waiting for Brandt's answer, and lit it up with a flick of his lighter. Also Dunhill, Brandt noted. Bergmann sucked in his cigar and blew out a cloud of smoke, sighing contentedly. "Forgive me if the smoke may bother you," he apologised as Brandt's eyes began to water and he quickly blinked them away. "I've been trying to quit smoking for the past month. My doctor informs me that my health may be at risk if I continue. But these things are easy to ignore. I used to smoke cigarettes but now I've swapped them for cigars. Do you smoke?"

"Not anymore," Brandt answered and he was beginning to fight the urge to check his watch. How long had they been here with Bergmann making idle chat with him? Was it ten minutes? He suddenly realised that the comm had been too quiet in his ear. Benji should have been jabbering away after Ethan kissed him and -

The comm. Was he still wearing it? Did it fall out of his ear when he was struggling with Ethan outside? Was that why he couldn't hear any of his teammates' voices? What was the next step in this plan that Ethan had put together on the last minute? What should he do now that he had Bergmann alone in this room?

* * *

"Penguin, what's going on?" Ethan asked. Beside him lay the unconscious body of Bergmann's former escort. The moment the door of Bergmann's room closed shut and the young man had leaned over him, Ethan opened his eyes and jabbed a thumb onto the pressure point located in his neck. The escort had slumped forwards, unconscious, and Ethan had dragged the body into the broom closet a few doors away where he decided to hide out and wait.

"First of all," Benji's voice sounded almost cross coming through the comm. "What the hell was that, Ethan? What the hell were you two thinking?"

"What is it? What happened?" Jane interjected. Benji hadn't yet told her what he saw on the camera. It was probably good that way too.

"Not the time, Penguin," Ethan cut in sharply. "Hawkeye's comm fell out. He has no communication with us. We only have the camera in the room to tell us what's going on."

"How on earth did his comm fall out-"

"_Benji_!"

"Okay, okay," Benji huffed, the sound of his rapid typing coming into their ears.

"You boys had better tell me what the hell happened or I'm coming after you when this is all over," Jane promised in a sharp and irritable tone.

"Okay," Benji said, clearing his throat. "Bran-er, I mean, Hawkeye and Phoenix are sitting down and Phoenix is having a smoke. Nothing's happened yet."

"Keep me updated," Ethan ordered and hoped that Brandt had enough sense in him to make good of the opportunity that Ethan had provided him.

* * *

A long time ago, his mentor had told him: when all else fails, go back to the basics. Remember your primary goal and then you will find your path.

And now many years later, Brandt remembered this piece of advice and decided to use it. _Stick to the plan_, he told himself. _Find that tattoo. _And the only way to do that really, was for Bergmann to take off his pants. Easier said than done.

Brandt stood up abruptly. "Is it getting hot in here?" god, was this the best he could do? He could almost picture Jane face-palming and Benji laughing his head off if they'd heard him say that. Bergmann's eyes lit up and the tip of his cigar glowed red as he sucked in another breath and exhaled, seeping smoke out of his nostrils.

"Quite eager are we?" he teased, unmoving from his seat. "Impatient as well? Not enjoying my company after all?"

Brandt sensed the danger of his situation - if he made the impression that he was moving too fast, Bergmann would lose interest in him and decide he wasn't such a good lay after all and dismiss him. Then Ethan's plan would fall apart and none of this would work. Brandt did some quick thinking.

"I was under the impression that you would like to get straight into business," Brandt chose his words carefully. "I mean, wasn't that why you picked me and not Little League out there?"

Bergmann let out a hearty laugh which shook his shoulders, bit into his cigar again and regarded Brandt with his head tilted in an angle. "I suppose you are right," he said nodding. "You seem much more interesting compared to dear Harold, 'Little League' as you called him. You have something the other escorts don't have. Something dark and dangerous. And I find it worth my time."

He leaned back into the couch, sucked his cigar and pulled it away to blow out a smoke ring or two.

"Secrets," he continued, dropping cigar ash onto the glass ashtray on the table. "Is what this place is all about. It is what keeps the Box of Tricks running for all these years. People who are constantly in the spotlight seek refuge in this place so that they can indulge in their secret hobbies without the world watching. I know for a fact that it isn't only the customers who have their own secrets; the escorts themselves are a mystery, they have their own reasons for being here. Take Harold for instance. He's a bit of foolish boy, I've had him once before, and I've asked him to talk about himself. He tells me he's the son of a multimillionaire - I'm sure that we both know him if I dropped in his name - and he's swamped by student debt and has gotten himself in a situation with loan sharks. Now he's working every weekend at the Box of Tricks so that he could earn enough money to pay back what he borrowed. Spreading information like that to his other customers could get him in trouble. This place does not shelter just influential people; it does so for criminals as well. Not the small fry but the big fish. The kind the government agencies are after. If one of them caught hold of Harold's story, he would have blackmailed the father and ruin his whole reputation. Secrets, as we both know, keep us safe but they can also kill you. Now let us talk about you. A mere army man that you claimed to be could not have such fighting skills like that. There is something more to your story…" he took another breath of his cigar and exhaled and for a moment, Brandt couldn't see him clearly through the smoke.

He suddenly tensed where he stood. Was Bergmann becoming suspicious of him? Brandt remembered the pocket knife hidden within the lining of his jacket and a tranquilizer dart concealed in his wristwatch but that was all the weapons he had on him. Ethan had forbidden the carrying of firearms just in case they were checked by security guards. Any fighting had to come from his own skills of self-defence.

"But never mind that," Bergmann suddenly announced, extinguishing his cigar, and then smiled up at Brandt. "Relax," he reassured. He must have noticed the tension in Brandt's shoulders. "I will not ask any more details about yourself. I seem to take a liking to you and I somehow trust you. So if it is business you'd like to attend to, let us get on with it."

Bergmann finally got up from the couch and walked over to sit at the foot of the enormous bed, loosening his tie on the way. "Perhaps you would like to undress? Didn't you mention that the room seems hot? Oh, and please show me your back while you do so."

Now that they had come to this stage, Brandt was thinking three things: first, that Benji had better not be watching him strip in front of the hidden camera that he was sure was present in the room; secondly, that Bergmann must have a strange fetish for backs; and thirdly, what was the best way to find that phoenix tattoo without losing his dignity? Brandt turned, showing Bergmann his back, unfastened his white band and tossed it aside before he began stripping off each article of clothing.

* * *

"Hawkeye is taking his clothes off," Benji announced in the comm.

"Oh, that's great to know," Jane said scornfully because Benji hadn't told her about what happened between Ethan and Brandt yet. "Enjoying the view, Penguin?"

"Haha," Benji replied sarcastically.

* * *

"Hmm," Brandt heard Bergmann hum approvingly as he peeled the jacket off his arms and tossed it aside. He could feel the German's eyes pierce the back of his neck and he willed himself to calm down. The tranquiliser dart in his watch, he reminded himself. He should use it. The moment he had to take off his watch, he needed to find a way to take out the dart discreetly and insert it into Bergmann's skin before the latter could touch him.

Brandt took his time in taking off his tie and unbuttoning his sleeves and dress shirt with slow precision. He guessed that Bergmann must be studying the contours of his back, the shape of his shoulders, the muscles rippling in his arms as he moved. Tossing the dress shirt aside, he fingered the hem of his white vest, the last layer before his skin was exposed, and pulled it over his head.

"Impressive," crooned Bergmann behind him and Brandt dropped the vest on top of his discarded clothes. He was now naked from the waist-up. "Perhaps you are indeed the soldier you claim to be," Bergmann continued. "You have gone through some difficult battles." The German must have been referring to the faint scar he had across his lower back, a souvenir from the shooting incident he was involved in during an op in Belgium many years ago. There were also the stitches dotted on his forearm, healing the stab wound he got from the team's last mission. No doubt Bergmann would become curious about them and try to piece together his history. This was becoming dangerous and Brandt needed to act fast before the other man became doubtful.

He heard the bed squeak behind him and felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Brandt became very still as Bergmann approached him from behind. He felt the man's hand rest on his bare shoulder.

"You have been training," Bergmann commented behind him and Brandt felt the hand trace his shoulder and dip between his shoulder blades. "And you continue to do so, I see. Are you still in the army, I wonder? Or have you moved on to use your skills for something else?" Down the hand went, fingers caressing his back and Brandt fought back a shudder. He wanted to shove that hand away, to strike back, to defend himself, but his mind ordered him to stand down. He could not give himself away like this. The plan would fail if he snapped.

"Perhaps you could show me how good you've trained your body to be," Bergmann's voice lowered into a whisper and when Brandt felt the fingers slip under the waistband of his trousers, his willpower snapped and his body reacted on its own.

Swivelling on the spot, his hand rose and smacked the other man's away and he was about to land a blow onto Bergmann's diaphragm when the German blocked his fist with his wrist and jabbed it back into his face. Brandt managed to throw the blow off and followed up with a strike from his elbow but it was met with empty air as Bergmann dodged it and countered it with an elbow swipe of his own.

Then they struck at each other continuously, limbs flying in the air in a colourful blur, an occasional smack of flesh on flesh upon contact, and grunts of pain escaping their lips when one successfully landed a blow upon the other.

* * *

"They're fighting," Benji reported, sounding alarmed. "Falcon! They're fighting!"

"On my way," Ethan acknowledged and burst out of the broom cupboard.

* * *

Bergmann got the upper hand on him when he managed to get him into a firm headlock, cutting off his air supply, and dragged him onto the bed. Pressing him onto the sheets, he then spoke above Brandt's heaved gasps, "I'm going to release you now. You are indeed an exceptional fighter. I am beyond impressed. I will let go and not fight with you anymore. Understand?"

Brandt stilled, surprised at the sincerity of the words. It seemed his cover had not yet been blown after all, which was what he assumed Bergmann was trying to expose. It looked as if Bergmann really did have a thing for fighting. Seeing Brandt's nod, the German released him and jumped back and out of his reach, as if he was expecting Brandt to strike him the moment he let go.

"What was that about?" Brandt rasped, gasping as he got up and rubbed his neck which was sore and damp with sweat. "Some sort of test?"

"Something like that," Bergmann replied with a small smile.

* * *

"Wait, wait, Ethan _stop."_

Ethan's foot hung in the air, poised above the door of room 108, as Benji suddenly yelled in his ear.

"What is it?"

"They've stopped."

"What?"

"Stopped fighting," Benji seemed to be laughing in disbelief. "I think Br- er, Hawkeye just said 'test'. I think Phoenix was just testing his skills or something."

"That makes sense," Ethan murmured, lowering his foot.

"What does?"

Ethan gingerly touched his eye where a bruise had swelled, "Hawkeye."

* * *

If there was one thing Brandt now knew, it was that it would be very hard to take Bergmann down in a fight. What happened between them was just a skirmish and Brandt knew that both had not been fighting each other at full strength. He now knew that forcing the tranquiliser dart on him would be too difficult a challenge and this meant that the only way was to do it inconspicuously.

Meaning that he had to get close enough to Bergmann to do it.

Bergmann was watching him from a distance, a look of admiration in his blue eyes. "Would you like to know why I take male escorts, much less prefer the company of my own sex?" he asked absent-mindedly, as if he was talking to himself. "It is because I appreciate the beauty of men's bodies, especially those which exert power, those which have trained their bodies as a weapon for survival, for self-defence, for destruction. Every movement, every twist and ripple of the muscle, the swiftness of body reflex, the sheen of sweat on the skin and the heat… all of it makes up for this beauty. I admire that so much. I must say that your body is a magnificent fighting machine and I am glad we have met tonight. I shall enjoy the rest of our evening together."

Brandt braced himself on the bed as Bergmann approached him, pulling off his tie on the way and saying, "Perhaps you would like to take the rest of your clothes off before we get started?" Brandt gave a nod and casually took off his wristwatch, discreetly twisting its face. He felt the glass fall away in his fingers and quickly gathered the concealed tranquiliser dart in his palm. Stuffing the watch into his pocket with one hand, he struggled with unbuckling his belt and pushing his pants down, leaving him in his underwear.

"I take it you don't do this very often," commented Bergmann as he stood before him. The man had barely removed any clothing for only his dress shirt had been unbuttoned, showing off a toned chest; and the belt of his trousers were removed. "Don't be so nervous," he assured and gently pushed Brandt back onto the bed.

* * *

"Oh god, I'm not watching this. I'm not watching this," Benji muttered, pushing his laptop away.

* * *

Bergmann's face hovered above his, the warmth and smell of strong cologne from his body pressing down on him. Now that they were up close, Brandt could see the extent of Bergmann's good looks down to the mole next to his eye. He was sure that Jane would have liked this man's appearance. "You have interesting features," Bergmann suddenly pointed out, turning his head this way and that to study Brandt's face. "Your eyes are an attractive shade of blue."

Brandt swallowed and Bergmann's eyes watched the movement of his Adam's apple as he did so. "Shall I start first?" he intoned playfully. "Would you like me to make you gasp and beg for mercy on these sheets? Fill you with a pleasure that you've never known to exist?"

Bergmann's fingers danced across his naked side, ready to strip off his underwear but Brandt stopped him.

"You forgot to undo your fly," he reminded him instead and Bergmann got the message and smiled widely down at him, showing pearly-white teeth. "If you insist," he said, oblivious to what was happening in Brandt's other hand, which was working on prying the stopper off the needle of the tranquiliser dart. "Perhaps you would be so kind enough to do that for me," Bergmann murmured, his tone inviting. His fingers moved to caress the short bristles of Brandt's hair before trailing down his neck.

Brandt grinned up at him. "With pleasure," he replied and stabbed the dart into Bergmann's side.

Bergmann's eyes shot open and he peered down in disbelief at the dart sticking out of his skin. He turned back to Brandt who was still grinning at him and his handsome face twisted into something ugly and angry.

"_You_!" he growled and before Brandt could throw him off, Bergmann had seized him by the neck and held him still while his fist flew down to pound him repeatedly in the face.

* * *

Benji screamed into his ear, "Ethan!"

Ethan lifted up his foot and kicked the door down. He found Bergmann on top of Brandt, repeatedly punching him, and quickly released his own tranquiliser dart hidden inside his watch. Once in his hand, he rushed over to the two sprawling bodies on the bed, wrapped an arm around Bergmann's neck and stabbed the dart deep into his skin. Bergmann twisted his head to look at him and screeched, "How dare you!" but luckily the combined dosage of the tranquiliser darts was finally taking effect and Bergmann's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he let go of Brandt and slumped into Ethan's arms, unconscious.

"Is he alright?" Ethan heard Jane's voice ask in the comm. Throwing Bergmann aside, he leaned over Brandt and supported his head in his hands. His whole face was bruised and beginning to swell and his nose was bleeding.

"Brandt," Ethan called, lightly slapping the other man's cheeks. "Brandt!"

Brandt's eyes rolled open and he let out a groan. "Where the hell were you?" he rasped and then fell unconscious.

"Hawkeye's fine," Ethan reported. "A little beaten up but he's fine. Phoenix has been neutralised. Now checking for the tattoo."

Ethan unzipped and pulled down the unconscious Bergmann's pants to find the tattoo of a phoenix on his thigh but something seemed wrong about it. He ran a finger over the skin and to his dismay; the entire tattoo peeled itself off into his hand.

"It's fake," Ethan reported, the tattoo sticker dangling from his fingers. "Bergmann isn't our man."

"Are you sure?" Jane asked in disbelief.

"Pretty sure."

"What do we do now?" Benji said, disappointment in his voice. "We've come all this way for nothing."

"Not nothing," Ethan corrected, gazing at Bergmann's unconscious body. "We'll take Bergmann, interrogate him. He should know something about Sentinel if he's trying to impersonate one of its operatives. Send out an extraction team as soon as you can. Brandt might need an ambulance."

"Roger that, Falcon."

* * *

**end of part i.**

* * *

Fun notes (or, oh the allusions, references and inspiration. Oh, _p__ls_):

1. Benji's codename when they were using Star Trek codenames being Scotty: Well, our lovely Simon Pegg played both Benji from _Ghotocol _and Montgomery Scott from the new _Star Trek _films.

2. Hawkeye/Clint Barton from _The Avengers _as Brandt's codename for this mission.

3. K2/Kieran Kassidy calling Ethan and Brandt, "Maverick" and "Mr. Cross". Maverick was the role Tom Cruise played in _Top Gun_ and Mr. Cross is - you guessed it - Aaron Cross from _The Bourne Legacy _played by Jeremy Renner.

4. Brandt tells Bergmann he used to be in the "leader in the EOD [Explosive Ordnance Disposal] back in the Iraq War". Jeremy Renner played Sgt. First Class William James who was exactly this in the film _The Hurt Locker._

* * *

**Part II** coming up but still unfinished. Stick around if you enjoyed this little _Ghotocol _universe that I created.


	2. Chapter 2

This chapter was finished ages ago and I pretty much forgot to upload it on this site. Apologies for those who have waited. This is no longer a two-shot by the way because I got carried away and didn't know where to go with this. I thought I might as well post this up for you all to enjoy.

Thanks for all the reviews/follows/favourites!

* * *

**Part II.**

Brandt woke up to a sore and heavy head and what sounded like the end of Jane and Benji's conversation in which its topic, judging by the way they threw his name around, had been he, himself.

"Hey, hey, he's waking up," Benji announced happily with a grin and he and Jane gathered around him, relief showing in their faces.

"How's the head?" Jane asked him kindly. "Doctor mentioned a mild concussion."

"Like I've been hit by a brick wall a couple of times," Brandt answered, groaning as he sat up on the cot in what looked like the medical bay at IMF HQ. He noticed that their leader was not in the room with them.

"Where's Ethan?" he asked, trying to rub his head to knead away the dull throbbing in his skull but found it covered in thick bandage. Jane absent-mindedly reached out to pull his hand away.

"Interrogating the prisoner," she told him and when a question formed in his eyes, she quickly shook her head, "Bergmann isn't our man. His tattoo was a fake."

Brandt stared, "Are you kidding me?"

Benji suddenly thrust his camera phone into his vision. "See? Fake," he said triumphantly and Brandt saw a photo of himself, unconscious on the medical bay cot and looking worse for wear for his head was wrapped in bandage and parts of his face were bruised blue and black. There was also a phoenix tattoo stuck onto his cheek. A sticker, it had been a tattoo sticker.

"Benji," Brandt groaned in disgust over Benji's snorting laughter. "That came from another man's _thigh_." He then slumped back into his pillows and sighed deeply, feeling disappointed and miserable. "Just perfect," he muttered and then sat back up to bury his face into his hands.

"You did a good job, Will," Jane reassured him, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "If it hadn't been for you two, we wouldn't have known anything about the Box of Tricks or what it is."

Brandt lifted his head from his hands and looked at them expectedly.

"The rest of IMF is looking into it now," Benji explained. "Like us, they believe that the Box of Tricks is involved in other things apart from being just a male brothel for the rich and famous. According to the data collected by Yours Truly, there's evidence that it was used as a checkpoint for drugs and people smuggling and where businesses like arms dealing and information exchange take place. We have reason to believe that Sentinel must have used it at some point."

"I know, right?" grinned Jane when she noticed the stunned look on Brandt's face and he blinked away his muddled thoughts.

"No, no it's just," he began and he could feel Jane and Benji leaning in closer to hear his voice which had come out quiet. "It's Bergmann. He told me about who goes in there. He mentioned that major criminals used the place too but I didn't see any of them in the bar. They must have separated the two groups from each other. You know, a male brothel for the high and mighty as a cover for what really goes down in there."

"So a high-class hotel hiding a brothel for the rich and famous, also hiding a hang-out for major criminals," Jane said slowly, excitement creeping in her voice. "And you're saying…"

"We've stumbled into a whole pot of gold," Benji finished in wonder. "It's possible that every major crook, madman or organisation has done business there. Right under those people's noses."

"So it really wasn't a waste then," Brandt commented, no longer feeling miserable about himself and smiled along with the others.

After a brief moment, Benji suddenly said rather nonchalantly, as if to disguise his concern, "We were worried though. You know, about you. You dropped your comm and we couldn't contact you."

"Yeah, me too," Brandt scoffed in agreement, absent-mindedly kneading his temple under the thick bandage. Jane went to pull his hand away again and then turned to address Benji, "Mind getting us some coffee?"

Benji stared incredulously at her, as if she had just ordered him to swallow snakes. Then he spoke in a high-pitched voice filled with disbelief, "Oh-oh am I the errand boy now? Off to fetch everyone's coffee? Would you like it decaf'd and latté'd with cream instead of milk and syrup instead of sugar?" he then shut up when Jane raised her eyebrows at him and he seemed to collect himself. "Okay, tantrum gone. Just ordinary coffee then," he muttered and retreated from the room, pausing to give Jane a knowing look before shutting the door behind him.

"What was that about?" Brandt asked for he had noticed the tension in Benji and Jane's exchange. "What were you guys talking about earlier anyway?"

"You and Ethan," she simply answered.

"What about us?"

"What happened between you two?"

Brandt suddenly remembered and looked away, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. Benji must have told her then. "I don't know. Haven't you asked Ethan?"

"Not yet," she replied. "But I probably will. I want to hear it from you first."

"What do you want me to say?" he said exasperatedly, gesturing at himself. "It was as shocking to me as it was to both of you. But in the end, I got in with Bergmann. That's what mattered." Then he paused, "Please don't tell me you want to talk about this because you're jealous."

Jane looked almost offended at being assumed that and Brandt had a feeling he should duck under the bed in case she decided he needed a slap in the face. Fortunately, she had no intention in mind because she quickly waved away his words, "This isn't about jealousy. And if you still think I am or that you're thinking that I may be in denial of my own feelings about it, I'm still not going to admit it because this isn't about me. This is you. About you. I just want to make sure you're okay and that it won't get awkward between you and Ethan later on."

"Awkward between…? What are you talking about?"

"Will," she said firmly as she gazed into his eyes. Jane had incredible eyes as they were brown like the bark of an oak tree and warm like an afternoon in autumn. "You know what I mean. Something like this could change a whole relationship. You must know that, you must have gone through it one time in the past."

"Like you and Ethan you mean?" Brandt dared to voice out because he really didn't want to talk about what happened, especially if it was with Jane, so it was better to make her confess about her own experiences instead. "You know, back in India. At Brij Nath's house."

Jane's face changed slightly into a faraway look, as if she was reminiscing about the events of their very first mission together which took them from Russia to Dubai and finally to India, where Ethan had taken the plunge and kissed her to make her desirable enough for Brij Nath's attention.

"It wasn't like we didn't notice," Brandt pointed out. "Well, Benji mostly. But something seemed different between you two when Ethan asked us to meet him after India." Indeed it was only after that mission that Jane and Ethan's interactions became nothing more than continuous casual flirting, more so that Benji complained to Brandt one time that the tension between the two whenever he was in the room with them was beginning to drive him up the wall. Brandt couldn't remember when the two stopped flirting and became companionable friends.

Jane was quiet for a moment before she shook her head a little and replied nonchalantly, "It was just a thing. A little big thing and it passed and… maybe it got weird for a while but eventually, we became okay. But honestly, in the beginning, I thought Ethan was being serious even though he told me he was playing a hunch. So I played along with him and I think, in the end, I realised this was never going to work if we got together and we were better off like this." She then cast her eyes onto Brandt, "But that was me and Ethan back then. It could be different with you both."

"Seriously Jane," Brandt was rather annoyed at the tone she was using, as if she was hinting at the impending doom that was coming sometime in the future for him. "What are you suggesting? That we might end up hitting on each other too? Come on, there's nothing to it. We're probably going to ignore it, sweep it underneath a carpet, label it as one of those times when it just had to happen because it's necessary for the goddamn mission and then get on with our lives. So yes it's going to be very different from your scenario."

Jane merely looked at him unimpressively after his outburst, as if he was an intractable child who insisted his wrong answer to a simple question was still the correct one, and Brandt bristled in irritation at her gaze. "Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked her flatly, eyebrows furrowed into a glower.

"Because I don't think you realise yet who you're dealing with," Jane pressed on, not the least bit affected by the glare Brandt was throwing her. "This is Ethan Hunt after all. You know how he is. And as far as we know, when it comes to him, we just can't help it. That man is a little bit impossible." And she left it at that because she was sure that Brandt could figure out the rest of the message.

Except that he could because it was true. Sometimes it was difficult to describe Ethan Hunt in a few words, sometimes even in a lot of words. He was one thing and he was everything and if there was something he could do better than possess an abundance of luck in missions, it was that he attracted people to him like paperclips to a magnet. Was it possible that it wasn't going to turn out like Brandt was expecting it to be?

There was a pause.

"It didn't mean anything," Brandt choked out weakly after that moment of silence. "It was for a mission."

"I know," Jane said, smiling sadly. "It's what happens _after_ that which becomes the problem."

Before Brandt could say anything in return, the door opened, signalling the end of their conversation, and Benji slipped inside, oblivious as to what had happened and was carrying two paper cups of steaming coffee complete with napkins and sachets of sugar and cream. He handed one to Jane and the other to Brandt who took it but lost it when Jane snatched it from him. She pushed the cup back into Benji's hands.

"Not for you," she quickly told Brandt, who was gaping at her in disbelief. "You're on a diet of water. No caffeine until you're all better."

"But you said 'bring us two coffees'," Benji complained, staring down at the cup in his hands. "Can't _he_ have a small sip? I'm sure he doesn't want just water. And anyway, whose coffee is this if not his?" He sounded almost protective over Brandt, in which case Brandt raised an eyebrow at his tone. Despite that, Benji merely ignored him.

"That's yours," Jane informed him and got up from her place on Brandt's cot and shepherded Benji towards the door. "We've got to send in our field reports and there's a meeting with the board that we can't miss. We'll talk to you later." She looked at him knowingly one last time.

Then the door closed behind them and he was alone.

* * *

He didn't think any more about his and Jane's conversation in the following days. In fact, he didn't see Ethan or the rest of the team until he was discharged from the medical bay a few days later. The only contact he got from any of them was Benji's frequent text messages which arrived at random times of the day and they told him useless things like "Found Irish pub nearby. Ate breakfast. Might bring you there sometime" or "Woman tripped over her own poodle at park. Was hilarious" and even "Police just arrested man for dressing in wife's clothes outside bank". Although it annoyed him greatly to have his phone buzz next to his ear every time he tried to drift off to sleep, he was grateful for the messages since they warded off his increasing boredom. Despite being told he was healing slowly, lately his back felt sore and he had irregular headaches which made him dizzy, especially in the afternoons when the weather was hot.

The first thing that Brandt did after he was pronounced as fit, was discharged and had emerged into sunlight from the gloom of IMF, was go to the nearest Starbucks around the block. He had attracted a few stares from the other customers as he shuffled along the queue leading to the counter. Although his bandage had been taken off, the area around his cheek and jaw was still bruised black. After ordering a mug of strong Americano from the overly friendly barista (she wrote her number down on his napkin), he sat himself at an empty table, stirred in some sugar from a couple of sachets and took a careful sip.

Someone plopped onto the chair opposite him and set down another mug of Americano on the table. It was Ethan Hunt.

"Hey," he greeted pleasantly.

"Oh hi," Brandt returned the greeting, surprised to find him here. He took in the image of Ethan dressed in a cord jacket casually thrown over a top and faded jeans and realised he looked quite nice in this getup, especially when the rays of warm sunshine hit his brown hair.

"How are you doing?" Ethan asked, sipping his coffee. Brandt noticed that he had not added any milk or sugar in it.

"Alright," Brandt answered honestly. "I'll be up and running in a day or two. Where are Benji and Jane?"

"They're in their downtime," Ethan said. "Benji's back in his old office, having another go at playing _Amnesia_. Jane's wherever she wants to be although I suspect she's out shopping right now."

Brandt was getting distracted by Ethan's face, by the way his long hair fluttered about when he moved his head or the way he glanced upwards when he was thinking. He was also distracted by the way Ethan's fingers tapped absent-mindedly on the handle of his mug and his lips when he talked.

When Ethan stopped talking and was just looking at him, Brandt suddenly turned away; feeling strangely embarrassed about himself that he was aware of his face growing hot as a result. If Ethan noticed anything wrong, he didn't mention it.

"Bergmann won't talk by the way," he suddenly said quietly and Brandt decided to focus his attention on that instead.

"But he talked all the time, you know, in that room," Brandt recalled. "Saying he appreciates the little things like champagne and fighting skills. He said he'd taken a liking to me and didn't seem to suspect anything was off even though he did come close a couple of times. He's also a really good fighter. He's fast like a snake and his hits are like bricks. I had trouble pushing him off."

"I had to put another tranq on him to send him to sleep," Ethan added in agreement. "That's saying something." He sipped his coffee again and Brandt watched Ethan wipe his mouth with his thumb after setting down his mug. "The thing is, he keeps asking for you."

"What?"

"He wanted to know your name and when we refused to tell him, he asked to speak with you and you only," Ethan said grimly, if not a little worriedly. "We wanted to know what he wanted with you and he wouldn't tell us. He kept insisting he wanted to see you. I now see what you mean about him 'taking a liking'."

"He probably wants to continue beating the shit out of me," Brandt muttered and to his surprise, Ethan was shaking his head. "It doesn't seem like it," he said and then narrowed his eyes determinedly. "Whatever it is, I'm not letting him anywhere near you all the same."

Ethan's tone had sounded so protective and surprising that Brandt was taken aback for a second and then found himself smiling before he even realised he was doing it.

"What?" Ethan asked, his mouth stretched into the beginnings of a laugh. "Did I just sound cheesy to you?"

"Wha- oh," Brandt caught himself and then gave his head a little shake. "Well, a little bit, yeah..." and then his words trailed off because he found no words at his disposal. Normally, he was rather quick at thinking up excuses but for some reason, his mind seemed a little hazy. He didn't know what else to say. At this point, Ethan was now looking worriedly at him.

"Maybe you should get some rest," he advised. "You just got out of the med bay today, right? Call up Seymour, he'll drive you anywhere." Ethan then drained the last of his coffee, set down the mug and got up.

"Where are _you_ going?" Brandt asked him and thought the coffee shop looked a little gloomier now that Ethan was leaving so soon.

"Info gathering," came the reply. "Should be gone for a day or two. Depends. And you _do _know Seymour's number, right?"

When Brandt gave a hesitant nod, Ethan leaned over, patted him on the shoulder twice and then rested his hand on the side of Brandt's neck. Brandt could tell that the action was done unconsciously but it didn't stop him noticing that Ethan's hand was warm and that his touch sent tingles across his skin. He almost shrugged the hand off but Ethan took it away first and said, "Look after yourself, Brandt."

With a final nod and a smile, he left the coffee shop and Brandt's eyes were following him beyond the glass windows. Ethan didn't turn back as he crossed the road and once a car drove past, he was gone.

The skin on his neck still tingled from Ethan's touch and Brandt scratched at it, confused for a moment at what his body was doing, before he took a large gulp of his coffee and thought no more about it.

* * *

Thirty-six hours passed after he was discharged from the IMF medical bay and he found himself going back there to get his head checked. Normally he could cope with the headaches, no matter how much the pain felt similar to having screws drilled into his skull, but when he actually blacked out in the middle of a supermarket and woke up to a circle of concerned faces above him, he made the wise decision of returning.

After passing through the multiple checkpoints of security into the secret IMF building, he wondered if Benji was still trapped in his old office, stuck on completing another computer game, or was out at another location, trying to crack the password of a highly secured safe box. When he reached the medical bay, he found to his reluctance that the doctor recommended him to get his head scanned by MRI.

The IMF medical bay was luckily equipped with all the right medical paraphernalia so the MRI scan took a little under half an hour to complete and when he emerged, he was told to wait by the front reception. It was crowded there with many of the people who were waiting he recognised as being staff members from the IMF building, chatting good-naturedly together while they waited to be called. One of them waved at him and Brandt waved back, recognising the face of Bill Payton from the R&D Department. Payton once shared his mug of coffee with him when Brandt still worked as Chief Analyst and had to pull an all-nighter to go through two hundred suspect profiles. He took a seat by the water tank.

A nurse wandered by, decked in the standard lab coat that all medical staff were required to wear in IMF and leaned over him, "Agent…Brandon, is it?"

"Brandt," Brandt corrected, standing up and he read the nurse's name by the ID card hanging from her neck: Janice Wyles. He'd never seen her before. Her hair was dyed blonde and tied up in a scruffy bun and gave the impression that she had been rushing around the building to complete a running marathon. She wore glasses with square frames and her eyes were a light brown and looked unhappy.

"Have you already done a general check-up?" her tone was clipped and sounded rather irritated.

"Uh, I'm here for an MRI scan?"

"Yes I know," said Janice Wyles quickly, if not offhandedly as if she was getting tired of patients reminding her of what her job was. "But we also require a very recent record of your general check-up."

"I did one about two days ago," Brandt explained. "I was under the care of a…Doctor Morrison. Doctor Phillip Morrison?"

"Yes well, last night one of our agents who came back from a field operation was under the influence of drugs and when he was left unsupervised, he accidentally set fire on Doctor Morrison's file cabinet," Wyles replied accusingly, as if it was Brandt's fault that he made the good doctor lose the file with his name on it. "Most of the med records were lost. We're going to have to do new ones."

"That's fine by me," said Brandt indifferently, pretending to be unfazed by her impatience and she pursed her lips and gestured for him to follow her.

Wyles did a pass around each surgery room to look for an empty one but discovered that all seemed to be occupied. Brandt noticed that most of the patients who were being checked over were agents just returning from their field operations. In the end though, Wyles let out a loud and exasperated huff, combing back the strands of blonde hair away from her face and marched to the last surgery room at the end of the hall.

"Mind telling me what's eating you?" Brandt offered her helpfully because he noticed the dark shadows under her eyes that were being hidden by the frames of her glasses.

Wyles shot him a calculating look, as if he had asked her a trick question, and then replied snappily, "What every med staff feels after being on-call for more than fifteen hours."

She knocked on the surgery door sharply, didn't wait for an invitation and just strolled inside. "Hi Beau," she greeted tiredly to the short dark-haired nurse inside, who was busy trying to open a box of needles. Behind her, a pair of tall green curtains covered the cot inside the room and Brandt could just see the silhouette of a patient sitting still through the thin cloth.

"Oh hello Jan," answered the nurse in a high-pitched, almost childish voice. "Need some of these?" she shook the box of needles towards her.

"No I just need to steal some of your space," Wyles explained and gestured for Brandt to sit down by the desk. "Geez, Beau. I swear the only time I don't enjoy working here is when these spies come back from being bombed to hell and are expecting us to stitch them back together."

Brandt shot her a look, perhaps to remind her that he was also a spy who was prone to being bombed to hell and was expecting the med staff to stitch his body back together because that was their _job_ after all, but Beau was nodding enthusiastically at Wyles, agreeing with her words.

"Exactly," she squeaked in a hushed tone. "Sometimes I think we don't get paid enough to handle things like this."

"_Exactly_," groaned Wyles and motioned for Brandt to step onto the height and weight meter so that she could record his figures. "Gosh, last night was like a nightmare. You know Bethany's asking me to redo all the med records that were in Morrison's cabinet? You know the one that got torched? I swear, Beau-"

"Yeah, yeah," Beau was nodding again and Brandt wondered when she was going to open that box of needles anyway. Beau continued, "It was like- I don't know, it was like, ugh, where do they even _put _these people on these missions-"

"You know what, Beau? Sometimes I think I know how injuries work but when I get a patient who tells me they fell off a twenty-five-story building and then got steamrolled into a pancake in Paris but ended up with only a couple of bone fractures in return, then I really don't know what's going on," Wyles complained, having recorded Brandt's height and weight and now she was gesturing for his arm so she could measure his blood pressure.

"I heard a rumour that they're like superhuman," Beau whispered dramatically. "IMF _do_ keep a lot of secrets and I wouldn't be surprised if superhuman agents was one of them."

"Yeah, you're telling me," Wyles muttered in agreement, pulling off her stethoscope after listening to Brandt's heartbeat and grabbed her pen to take note of it. After several more minutes of Wyles measuring something else from his body ("hold still, just there - a bit to the left, right now - _freeze_") and recording them down while throwing remarks over her shoulder to Beau who still fiddled with her box of needles, she finally then looked at him. "Fill in the rest of this form," she instructed, pushing the paper and pen towards him and then turned to speak to Beau again.

Brandt quickly ticked and scribbled answers for the questions on the form ("Do you have any disabilities? If yes, state them" or "Have you been injured in the last month? If yes, state them" etc.) and when he finished, he pushed the completed form back to Wyles, who took no notice of him until he cleared his throat for her attention.

"Finished?" she didn't wait for his answer but took the paper and studied it. Meanwhile, Beau had finally opened the box and was now filling her new array of needles with different coloured chemicals. She got up and pulled the green curtains aside.

To his surprise, Ethan Hunt was sitting there on the cot, crossed-legged, bare-chested and eyes closed as if he was meditating. His skin was darker than when Brandt last saw him and there were bruises dotted here and there across his bare chest. His long hair hung over his face, matted with mud and blood.

"Okay, you're done," Wyles suddenly announced, getting up, the paper clutched in her hand. "You can leave now, Agent Brown."

"Brandt," he corrected her with a frown.

At the sound of his voice, Ethan's eyes opened and he turned his head and saw him. Ethan seemed surprised to find him here too. With the way Wyles and Beau had treated them while they chatted, it was almost impossible to guess that the patients on either side of the green curtains were in fact each other. Beau was trotting up to Ethan, asking him to hold out his arm where she then carefully inserted one of the needles into his skin. Ethan paid no heed to her nor did he flinch when the needle penetrated the skin of his wrist. Brandt could feel Ethan's curious gaze on him, as if trying to figure out what on earth he was doing here and what was wrong with him, when Wyles answered his unspoken questions for him.

"Sorry, Agent _Brandt_. That concludes your general check-up. You can leave now."

Brandt got up and he happened to peer over Wyles' shoulder, his eyes meeting Ethan's amused ones, and then once more his lips moved on their own accord, forming a smile. In seeing it, Ethan gave one in return and then his heart, Brandt realised, fluttered wildly in his chest.

"Aren't you going to leave?" snapped Wyles when she realised Brandt hadn't moved. "I thought you were waiting for something at reception. Go, go!"

He was ushered outside and the door slid shut behind him and he walked down the hall in a daze.

* * *

It turned out he really didn't need the MRI after all. The scan showed there was no abnormality in his head and that his blackout may have been a one-time thing. He was then given a new dose of pills that he had to take twice a day, was instructed to drink plenty of water and have lots of rest, and if headaches continued to persist, he was going to have to come in again.

He didn't see Ethan anywhere about an hour later in the medical bay, although he spent about fifteen minutes hanging around the corridors making idle chat with some of the staff who recognised him but knowing that he was only doing so in hopes that he could bump into Ethan again on the way out. But seeing that it wasn't going to happen any sooner, he exited the building with the packet of pills stuffed in his pocket and a bottle of water in one hand and his mind kept replaying the moment when his eyes met Ethan's, the smiles, and then the familiar feeling blooming in his chest. He hadn't felt that way since Cindy Linebacker back in junior high school.

Brandt was beginning to have a bad feeling about this.

When he got home - and home being merely a temporary safe house that IMF picked for him to rest during his downtime - he paced up and down the living room, his pills and bottled water forgotten and his thoughts racing through his mind.

Ethan, his mind chanted. _Ethan. _God, even the name sounded suddenly appealing to him.

Several hours and cans of beer later, he called Benji.

"I need to talk to Jane."

"What?" Benji sounded distracted and there was a noise playing in the background. Was Benji playing another computer game? "Why are you asking me? Jane isn't even here."

"I lost her number," Brandt said hastily. "You could find out though."

Benji huffed down the phone and Brandt heard him typing rapidly on his laptop. "I'm sending the number to your phone now," he told him and sure enough, Brandt's phone buzzed as it received a text message. He was just about to thank Benji and hang up when the latter spoke:

"Are you alright?" he asked. "You're not in some kind of trouble, are you?"

"No," Brandt answered curtly.

"Because why are you talking to Jane." It wasn't a question and Benji's tone was suspicious.

"Why _shouldn't_ I talk to Jane?"

"Well you know, you _could_… talk to me," was it him or was there a hint of jealousy in Benji's voice? "Unless it's something to do with… _Oh_. Oh god, is this something to do with that thing, you know…I mean of course you do, you know, that thing between, um, you and uh, Ethan?"

_Ethan_. Brandt cringed at the name and sank into the couch, running his hand through his tousled hair which he had been messing up while thinking hard and deep for the past four hours. He sighed in defeat.

"It is, isn't it?" Benji said expectedly.

"I need to talk to Jane," Brandt said again, his voice quiet and dejected. "Goodbye, Benji."

"W-w-wait, wait, wait, _wait_," Benji cried out when Brandt was just pulling the phone away from his ear. "Brandt? _Will_? Will, are you still there?"

"Yeah," Brandt answered gloomily.

Benji let out a long sigh as if he was readying himself for a speech. "Is it bothering you?" he asked in a steady voice.

"What is?"

"The kiss."

Now that the issue was out in the open, Brandt was considering it carefully, tried to remember what he had been feeling when Ethan's lips had met his. There had been shock, loads of it, and general disorientation because his mind had shut down in those few seconds. Ethan had not kissed him gently. It wasn't like there were fireworks being set off in his head. He may have felt hot all over when he'd pushed Ethan off but it was mostly from the lack of air and the feeling of embarrassment at being caught off-guard. The whole experience felt strangely mundane, like someone just put their mouth on yours by accident and that was it.

"No," he replied confidently because he really wasn't bothered at all and it was strange. It was incredibly _strange_.

There was a surprised silence at Benji's end and somehow Brandt pictured him crouched in front of his laptop, computer game on Pause, his phone glued to his ear and his face, blue from the glow of the laptop screen, forming a bewildered expression.

"Okay…" Benji finally said. "Okay so if you're not bothered by it then why do you need to talk to Jane?"

"You know Benji, I really have no idea," Brandt muttered exasperatedly, staring up at the dark ceiling. He had not bothered to turn on the lights in the room so he was pretty much sitting in darkness. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I shouldn't talk to Jane because I don't know what to tell her. I'm just… it's all kind of messed up for me lately."

"Maybe you should…um, tell me from the beginning," Benji murmured, sounding almost embarrassed. "I'm not really good at this, uh, you know, 'talking' stuff. But, um, I'm willing to sacrifice my manliness to listen to your feelings."

Brandt suddenly burst out laughing, not a series of manly chuckles but deep bellows of laughter that were hard enough to leave him almost breathless, making him clutch at his side. It was a while before he could calm himself down. What on earth was going on with him? It was the stress – the stress brought about by thinking too much, his mind mulling over the same thing over and over again that he became restless and exhausted at the same time. He felt the need to unwind by talking to someone and the only person he could think of that time had been Jane. Because Jane had talked to him about this, Jane had understood what he went through and possibly knew what he was going through right now.

Now, the tension he was feeling this past few hours had alleviated a little the moment Benji offered to hear him out. It was true that they normally never did things like this but at that moment, he felt a strange rush of affection and sense of close comradeship for the other man. Not that Brandt would ever mention it to Benji. Surely, once this thing was resolved, they would mutually agree without the need for words not to talk about it ever again.

"Oh wow, tell me you're still alive," Benji moaned after Brandt struggled to regain his breath after his bout of laughter. He could tell that the former was grinning on the other side. "That sounded almost painful," continued Benji.

Brandt breathed in deep and slow, wiping the tears of mirth which had formed in his eyes. "God, Benji," he gasped. "I… I really don't know what to say."

"Ha-_hey_. Glad that my pathetic attempt at offering my sympathetic ear to you has cheered you up a bit," Benji said breezily. "That aside, okay serious time. Just… just tell me first what happened in the Box of Tricks. That's a start."

Taking a deep breath, Brandt opened his mouth and began.

He described to Benji the moment when he and Ethan had stopped in front of room 108 and were considering what they should do. Brandt had fired off some ideas and Ethan remained quiet and the next thing that he knew, Ethan had him up against the wall and was kissing him. Bergmann had emerged, curious of the ruckus outside his room, found them there and Brandt had beaten Ethan up and caught Bergmann's attention at the same time.

"Spontaneity does sound like Ethan's forte, alright," Benji delivered his verdict in a pensive tone. "I mean, if Ethan had done _that_ to me, I probably won't be surprised. Er, you know, after I get over the big shock that is. I mean, this was just for a mission, right? I'm sure it isn't like Ethan to suddenly want to jump you in the middle of a mission."

"Yes, that's what I mean," Brandt emphasized.

"Then… then what are you so worried about?"

Brandt sighed again, resting his chin on his chest while his other hand absent-mindedly fingered the buttons of his shirt. "Ethan," he muttered into the phone.

"And?" For once, Benji sounded impatient. "God, Agent Brandt. Stop being such a girl and tell me what's wrong with you. Don't keep me guessing like this."

"It's _Ethan_," Brandt finally snapped, his voice becoming close to hysterics. "It's me… me _thinking_ about Ethan. You know, that, like that Ethan is suddenly _there_, right in front of me, clear as day, like in the coffee shop when I got discharged and, and then at the med bay today. It's like I just noticed things about him, like his hair and his eyes, and I remember his stupid little habits, you know, like when he's waiting for a suspect to show up and his fingers are always playing with something, or-or when he says things like "good work, team" in that tone of his after we finish an op." He took a deep breath and his voice came out weak, "I don't know…it's like- I'm like…"

"Like a high-school girl with a crush," Benji finished for him. "No offense but I am giving you my straight-forward, non-judgemental, objective perspective to you." He paused to draw in a breath, "William Brandt, you are attracted to Ethan Hunt."

Brandt's stomach fell because he already suspected this about himself for a while but kept denying it for hours. Now that Benji had voiced it out, the reality of the situation dawned on him hard, like a slap in the face. He groaned and buried his head into a cushion, "_Attracted_…?"

"Yeah, you know. 'Attracted'," Benji answered him brightly and, as if he assumed that Brandt was having trouble figuring out what the word meant, helpfully stated, "'Attracted' as in 'fancy' as in 'have a crush on' as in 'being infatuated with someone'. Sort of like what Jane went through with Ethan after India. Oh god, does that mean I'm going to be witnessing some more sexual tension in the air for the next few months?"

"Shhhit," Brandt swore in a hiss, his voice muffled into the cushion.

"Shit," Benji agreed along with him.


End file.
